Dead Men Tell No Tales?

Last week, during class, we spent a morning talking about creation and stewardship. At one point, we ended up talking rather extensively about death. During the discussion, the idea was presented that death is completely evil, and that we of the modern age have made too much of a 'peace with death.' That death is horrible and certainly should not be considered a friend. That death is also evil because "The dead cannot praise God," which is, of course, a Bible verse. Specifically, it's from Psalm 115. From this verse, the discussion came to the conclusion that the dead exist in some sort of unconscious state until the Judgment Day.

Please allow me to say now what I should have said then: I respectfully disagree - with pretty much all of it.

Please do not assume that my disagreement is simply a product of our modern "peace with death." Please do not assume I disagree because I have watched too much Touched by an Angel or because I listened to Gandalf say that "Death is just another path, one that we all must take" or because, upon reading Eragon, I fell in love with Brom's dying words: "And now for the greatest adventure of all." These things may be the visible signs of my 'peace with death.' But they are not the cause.

So, let's talk about death - one part at a time.

First, we've got the idea that death is completely evil. For starters, I'm uncomfortable with calling anything "completely" good or "completely" evil. Especially when the emphasized theme last week was that there is wheat and tares - good and bad - in everything. Every person. Every act. Every part of culture. I suppose you could say that this only refers to all parts of creation - that death was never meant to be part of the picture and therefore has no good in it. But if death is never good . . . then where does the term "Good Friday" come from?

For anyone who might be unfamiliar with the term, "Good Friday" refers to the day when Jesus died. It's known by other names, but I have pretty much always heard it referred to as Good Friday. The day when Jesus died. Died. Not rose. We don't celebrate the Resurrection until Easter - the following Saturday after sunset. Yet we call Friday "Good". Because Jesus' death is "Good" - Jesus' death was part of God's plan of Salvation. But if God's death can be "Good," what does that say about our death - we who are made in the image of God?

Last semester, I took an Introduction to Literature class focusing on "Love and Death." At the beginning of the class, we were given a survey. One of the questions asked us what a "good death" would be. I don't think that's an oxymoron.

But maybe that's just a product of my modern way of thinking, so let's take a look at that. Is that really such a modern idea. The case in point was the view of death as a friend, so let's look at that. Maybe it's just my Catholicism showing, but the very first person I thought of when this idea was mentioned was Saint Francis of Assisi. And the phrase that came to mind doesn't even describe death as merely a friend, but as "Sister Death."

Granted, Francis did this with everything. Everything - everything - was either a sister or a brother. Take one look at his "Canticle of the Sun" and you'll get a picture - Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brothers Wind and Air, Sister Water, Brother Fire, Sister Earth, and, finally, Sister Death. But it's not by mistake that he includes Death in his family, or that he saves her for last.

So the idea is at least as old as Saint Francis. Of course, it's ridiculous to say that all people in St. Francis' time shared his beliefs. But it's just as preposterous to assume that everybody today has made this supposed 'peace with death.' I would say that there have been people in every time who have viewed death as something to be feared and despised, just as there have been those who have not. Ask the average guy on the street if he thinks death is his friend, and I doubt you would get a 'yes' very often.

Maybe we're more aware of death. After all, it's everywhere. On the news. In the papers. In books and movies and songs. But how often is it portrayed as good? There are certainly deaths that are viewed as honorable - when someone dies to save another, for example. A soldier who dies in the line of duty. A firefighter who risks his own life to save those in need of help. And some deaths, perhaps, have more appeal than others. I would rather die in my sleep, for example, than be hit by a bus. (Maybe that's just me.) But I would disagree with the idea that, as a culture in general, we view death as a good thing.

Which brings me to "The dead cannot praise God" and this idea of a state of unconsciousness until the Judgment Day. My initial reaction was "What???" It wasn't until a while later that I realized exactly why.

So, the Bible. Psalm 115. One verse. "The dead cannot praise God." God said it, I believe it, that settles it, right? Pardon a moment of bluntness, but, for goodness' sakes, people, what are you thinking?

Even if, for a moment, we assume that we're just looking at this one verse here, we could still take different perspectives. We could bat around the idea of whether this verse is referring to a physical death or a spiritual death. We could look at historical context and what the ancient Hebrews believed about death at the time, and how that has changed in the few thousand years since the Psalms were written. And, looking broader, if you like, we could toss Bible verses back and forth all day. Mark 12:26-27 comes to mind. "There it is written that God said to Moses, 'I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. He is the God of the living, not of the dead." Living. Not 'those who will be living again some day.' Living. Present tense. Of course, God is outside of time, so the future is the present and so on, and so we could go back and forth all day, which is what happens when verses get yanked out of context to prove a point.

Forgive my bluntness - rudeness, perhaps - but there are a few things that drive me crazy, and that's one of them.

And I'm not the only one. Another one of the classes I took last semester was an Introduction to Christian Theology. In this class, it was stressed that we should look at four sources of theology: scripture, tradition, reason, and experience. So let's do that.

As far as tradition goes, in my own Catholic tradition, the position seems fairly clear to me. Catholics have a long history both of praying for the dead and of asking the dead to pray for us - which makes zero sense if they're stuck in some sort of unconscious state until Judgment Day and the trumpet sounds. After nearly a semester of studying Eastern Orthodoxy, I think I can safely say that we agree on this point. Both traditions ask saints to intercede for us - much like asking a friend or neighbor here on earth to pray for you.

As far as Protestantism goes, I'm not an expert by any means, so, in an effort not to lump all Protestants into one group - and because I don't want to write an encyclopedia-length post dissecting every single different denomination based on what I can find online - I'm going to say that traditions vary and leave it at that.

That brings us to reason. My reason, quite simply, can't think of a good reason why God would want to leave the dead in some sort of unconscious state for who-knows-how-many-centuries. Of course, that doesn't mean that there isn't a good reason - just that I can't think of one. Other than that, my reason doesn't have much to say about what happens after death. As annoying as that is to someone who enjoys logic as much as I do, I flat-out can't reason this one out. It doesn't work that way.

Which leaves experience. Well, I haven't died, so that leaves first-hand experience out of the question for now. And I'm not going to go into stories of people who have died - or had near-death experiences - and returned to life, because I don't personally know anybody who has.

But that doesn't put experience out of the picture. Last year in October, my uncle Marty died. One of the games he liked to play with us when we visited was a game called Ticket to Ride. My family has a few versions that we've picked up at various thrift stores and still enjoy playing. Usually, at some point during the game, someone - usually my dad - will say, "Love you, Marty." It's something simple. But I believe that when we say something like that, he's listening. Shortly after his death, I participated in the Hospers talent night. (Hospers is the dorm I live in.) I sang For Good - and dedicated it to Marty. I believe that he heard me.

Every Memorial Day for quite a few years now, I've played Taps at the cemetery outside our town. When I do that, I'm not doing it just for the people I can see who are listening to me play. I'm doing it for those who have died - who I believe are also listening. I also played Taps at my grandpa's funeral - not for the rest of my family, but for him.

Shortly after we arrived in Romania, we spent a week up at Straja. There, they have an Orthodox church, and, outside the church, a tunnel of sorts with paintings on the inside - pictures of saints. The first time I went inside, I felt completely surrounded - in a good way. Surrounded by the presence of so many people. I don't know how they could be there so fully if they're not even conscious and aware. It just doesn't make any sense to me.

I experienced something similar during Fall Break. While we were in Milan, we visited an absolutely amazing cathedral called the Duomo. Yes, it's huge. Yes, it's magnificent. Yes, it was wonderful to climb on top and see the view. Yes, it's amazing how many statues there are.

But the highlight for me was a moment when we were inside. I was kneeling in one of the pews over on the right side. As I looked up, I saw a statue of a saint. I felt as if he was looking straight at me, and his hand was extended in blessing. I don't know who he was or anything about his life, but, in that moment, I felt as if I had been truly welcomed to the cathedral.

Again, this is purely my experience. In this respect, I can't speak for anyone else, and I can only assume that people's stories will vary. So, speaking for myself, taking into account scripture, tradition, reason, and experience, I will say again that I respectfully disagree with the opinion voiced in class, and I believe that the dead - or, rather, the living - are aware and present to us.

All of this may seem like quite an elaboration on a few somewhat offhand remarks made during class, but I believe it's important. Because how we view death affects our views on so many other things. As Captain Kirk would say (Oh, dear, here's modern culture again), "How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life." It matters enough that it's been bugging me ever since that day in class, and, obviously, it matters enough for me to write a rather long blog post on the topic. It matters.

Why? Because we're all going to die. Because death is the sister "from whose embrace no living person can escape," to quote Saint Francis again. I like that picture.

Going back to the survey we took for our literature class on love and death, another one of the questions asked how old we expected to live to be. I never gave an answer. When we were asked to talk about our answers to one of the questions, I explained that if I die when I'm old, I'm fine with that, but, if death comes sooner, well, that's okay, too. I didn't say it with the intent of making a good philosophical impression, either; I meant it wholeheartedly. My professor remarked that I have a "sense of my own mortality." I think she meant it as a compliment, and I've certainly chosen to take it as one.

I don't know where that sense comes from. Maybe it does have to do with watching a lot of Touched by an Angel episodes - Andrew (the Angel of Death) has been my favorite for quite some time. Maybe it does have to do with Gandalf and Brom, and, while we're at it, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ian Malcolm and plenty of my other favorite characters who end up dead. Or maybe it goes deeper than the modern culture explanation. Maybe something deep inside of me agrees with a man who, nearly eight hundred years ago, saw death as a sister.

We praise you, Lord, for Sister Death,
From whose embrace no living person can escape.
Woe to those who die in their sins.
Blessed are those that She finds doing Your will.
No second death can do them harm.
~ From St. Francis' Canticle of the Sun

Pace si Doamne Ajuta,
Beth